The Streets of Heaven
by Saran VD
Summary: Songfic is that the right word? to the song The Streets of HEaven. MImis young daughter is dying. Oneshot. ratiung 4 death


**A/N: This idea just WOULDN'T go away. Before I heard of RENT (oh, come on, I was in like fourth grade!) this was one of my favorite songs (still is, actually). Post-RENT. "The Streets of Heaven" lyrics © to Sherrie Austin. Mimi's POV throughout.**

The Streets of Heaven

_Hello God, it's me again. 2:00 a.m., Room 304.  
Visiting hours are over, time for our bedside tug of war.  
This sleeping child between us may not make it through the night.  
I'm holding back the tears as she fights for her life.  
Well, it must be kind of crowded,  
On the streets of Heaven.  
So tell me: what do you need her for?  
Don't you know one day she'll be your little girl forever.  
But right now I need her so much more.  
She's much too young to be on her own:  
Barely just turned seven.  
So who will hold her hand when she crosses the streets of Heaven?_

I sat next to little June, who was lying in her hospital bed with tubes sticking out of her arms and nostrils. It was horrible, and I felt so _guilty_. When I realized that I was pregnant with Roger's baby, I didn't think about the consequences that keeping her would bring. I had given her AIDS. It was my fault that we were in this fucking room at all, struggling to keep her alive. Never in a hundred million years did I dream that one day I would watch my daughter dying in front of my eyes.

Now, as I sat in that white, white room, I reflected on her life. The day she was born in the loft because she came out so fast. Her first birthday. The day we discovered she had AIDS. _No!_ I can't think about that. I _won't_ think about that.

_Tell me God, do you remember the wishes that she made,  
As she blew out the candles on her last birthday cake?  
She wants to ride a pony when she'd big enough.  
She wants to marry her Daddy when she's all grown up._

_Well, it must be kind of crowded,  
On the streets of Heaven.  
So tell me: what do you need her for?  
Don't you know one day she'll be your little girl forever.  
But right now I need her so much more.  
She's much too young to be on her own:  
Barely just turned seven.  
So who will hold her hand when she crosses the streets of Heaven?_

Roger was asleep in the other chair, and he stirred. "Honey? Meems, what's wrong?" Even as he asked, we both knew the answer. There was no need for words. We just sat there, gazing at our daughter. All the dreams she had, so many of which would never come true (although Roger and I had written in to the Make A Wish foundation). She was seven, _seven_, that was too young to be dying. I couldn't get over it. My body racked with sobs, and Roger just held me, even though this was equally hard for him.

_Lord, don't you know she's my angel  
You got plenty of your own  
And I know you hold a place for her  
But she's already got a home  
Well I don't know if you're listenin'  
But praying is all that's left to do  
So I ask you Lord have mercy, you lost a son once too._

So, there I was, in the hardest position that parents could ever find themselves in, praying. Not speaking, just praying. I would give anything for one last day. That was all I needed; one last chance to say, "I love you," and let her know that she would never be forgotten.

Then, by a miracle, my wish was granted. June stirred and opened her eyes, barely, to look at me. "Mama," she said.

I took her tiny, thin hand in mine. "Yes, cariña?" I asked.

She gave me a small smile. "I love you."

I smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. "I love you, too."

Then, in a tone as sweet as that of any angel, she said, "Mama, let me go."

_And it must be kind of crowded,  
On the streets of Heaven.  
So tell me: what do you need her for?  
Don't you know one day she'll be your little girl forever.  
But right now I need her so much more.  
Lord, I know once you've made up your mind,  
There's no use in beggin'.  
So if you take her with you today, will you make sure she looks both ways,  
And would you hold her hand when she crosses the streets of Heaven._

That one last moment, right before she drifted into unconsciousness, cleared my mind. "Let me go." She was okay with it. She, a girl of seven, was acting more grown up than I was. So when, several moments later, the regular beeping of her heart monitors became one long sustained tone, Roger was the one letting out grief-stricken wails, and it was my job to comfort him. I cast my eyes to the sky once more, and whispered, "Take care of her, Angel."

And now, finally, I could begin going down the long road of despair and grief that lay ahead of me.

_The streets of heaven…._


End file.
